


Pulling Teeth

by Rini2012



Series: The Bard & The Witcher [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Geralt POV, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Geraskier, Jaskier POV, Jaskier is trying, Lack of Communication, Leshens (The Witcher), M/M, Magic, Relationship Problems, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, monster hunt, multiple POVs, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rini2012/pseuds/Rini2012
Summary: It's been 2 months since that night in Cintra, and Jaskier has been trying to get Geralt to open up. However, a mishap during a new contract might force Geralt's hand and make him rethink their relationship.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bard & The Witcher [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612579
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	Pulling Teeth

Jaskier had imagined many things for if he ever confessed his feelings to Geralt and somehow those feelings were returned. Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t expecting moonlit romantic picnics or weekends away together. That wasn’t how Geralt worked, and Jaskier knew that. He had said he’d let Geralt take the lead in how their relationship progressed because of this.

That being said, it didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t feel a bit…  _ cheated _ by Destiny at times.

Admittedly, Jaskier felt a bit of satisfaction when they passed brothels and Geralt would decline the whores’ advances, knowing that the Witcher would frequent them in the past. Or when they slept in the wilderness for the night, Geralt would spoon Jaskier’s back like a protective blanket. Once in a blue moon, Jaskier would hold Geralt’s hand as they trekked through the wilderness, and Geralt wouldn’t push him away.

But then there was… literally nothing else.

It had been two months since Princess Pavetta’s betrothal banquet, and barely anything else changed between them. Geralt didn’t initiate anything remotely romantic, like a kiss or a hug. Jaskier had tried to give him a kiss on the cheek once, but Geralt had moved away so quickly that the bard was sure he was using his Witcher speed. He thought he had been reading the situation correctly when he attempted that.

_ ‘He’ll go at his own pace, don’t be such an arse about it.’ _ Jaskier would have to repeat that to himself in his moments of doubt. And yes, he  _ maybe _ was being an arse in his head about barely having physical affection beyond what they normally did, but that was mainly because before, Jaskier could get his physical affection from lovely ladies and handsome lords he met on the road. Now he was taken by his built-like-gods Witcher, but wasn’t  _ taken _ by him.

That was another thing, they’d never made love or even just fucked to let off steam. Jaskier had seen Geralt naked multiple times when they had to bathe in rivers during travel, and he was to  _ die _ for. The expanse of muscles, the masculine hair, the scars that told stories even Jaskier didn’t know yet. And when he bathed, seeing the water droplets run down his body and slick back his hair, had to be illegal somewhere on the continent. Jaskier could count on both hands how many times he’d had to “bathe” a bit longer so he could relieve himself.

Because of all of these things, Jaskier had to reassure himself daily that everything would be fine, and Geralt would open up to him… eventually.

***

For the last week or so, Jaskier noticed that Geralt couldn’t sleep. Jaskier was a partially deep sleeper, used to be a  _ very _ deep sleeper before having to sleep in the wilderness for weeks at a time, but he would always wake if Geralt got up midway through the night. Usually if that happened, it was because Geralt heard something nearby or there were bandits approaching their camp.

Lately, there hadn’t been anything like that, so Jaskier would go back to sleep. As the days went on, Geralt became more irritable, and it clearly showed. He was less than cordial to the alderman they collected payment from (he was a bit of a prick, but Geralt usually didn’t react), he seemed to be less aware of his surroundings, and just had the aura of a man with no sleep.

On one such night, Jaskier had again fallen asleep on the bedrolls he shared with Geralt and was content being held in his Witcher’s arms. He was dreaming of a song he should write (a damn good one at that), when he awoke to the sound of Geralt’s boots and wood being placed on a fire. Slightly annoyed, Jaskier rubbed his eyes and looked in the direction of his feet. Geralt looked miserable tending to the fire, with bags under his golden eyes and his hair falling out of it’s tie.

“Geralt?” Jaskier softly called out.

Geralt looked up at him, then continued to poke at the fire. “I’m fine, Jaskier. Go back to sleep.”

With a sigh, the bard got up and sleepily shuffled over to Geralt. “You’re clearly not,” he said as he sat down next to the Witcher and leaned on him. “Any idiot can see that you haven’t been sleeping well, which is almost impossible because you’re a Witcher.”

“Hm.” Geralt said as he stared at the fire.

Honestly, Jaskier had a love and hate relationship with Geralt’s silence. It was a part of what attracted Jaskier to him in the first place, but could be a nuisance at the worst of times. Jaskier had a feeling this was going to be one of the times it was the latter.

“Has there been... something on your mind?” Jaskier asked. “Is it about what happened at the betrothal banquet? With the whole Child Surprise thing?”

“No.”

“Alright…” Jaskier tried to think of other reasons Geralt could be upset. “There was that bar-maiden who tried to flirt with me two days ago, is it about her?”

“No.”

Geralt seemed to become more irritated, but Jaskier was determined to get to the heart of the issue. If anything, he wanted to help Geralt sleep.

“What about that Cockatrice you slayed this week? The one the alderman ended up not-.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt snapped. “Leave it.”

Jaskier threw his hands in the air. “I’m just trying to help you, Geralt. You can’t go killing monsters if you’re half asleep, and I certainly wouldn’t feel safe without you at peak performance.”

Geralt gritted his teeth, and seemed to be holding back something he wanted to say. That wasn’t helpful at all. Since they had gotten together, Jaskier could understand to an extent why Geralt wasn’t accustomed to physical affection. However, Geralt’s trademark of silent brooding was not helping anyone, and it was starting to get on the bard’s nerves.

“Fine,” Jaskier said as he stood up. “If you’re not going to be open about your feelings, I’ll be open about mine. It’s hard to not be irritated by the lack of a hug or a small sign of affection every now and again. I told you up front that I’d let you set the pace, and I will keep to that. But the fact that you won’t  _ talk _ about these things really irritates me.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed at the fire. “I’m not like you, Jaskier.”

“We established that when we met, didn’t we?”

“And you seem to forget that often.”

Jaskier was stunned and offended. A voice in the back of his mind said that Geralt was sleep deprived, so he wasn’t thinking clearly. But his heart was furious of what Geralt was implying, and… he knew he’d probably regret what he was about to say later, though if he knew one thing about Geralt of Rivia, it was that anger helped him express his feelings.

“Okay, I’ll be even more honest: It’s like  _ pulling teeth _ to get you to react to  _ anything _ I try to do for you! You never give me thanks for making you famous, you never compliment my singing or poems, you’ve never even said that you loved me again since that night in Cintra. Honestly, Geralt, it sometimes feels like you were just trying to shut me up by saying you loved me.”

Geralt’s eyes actually snapped up to Jaskier’s. “I do love you-!”

“How would I know if you don’t act on it? I’m the one who keeps doing the romantic gestures like giving you that daisy in Cintra, or initiating physical contact, yet you haven’t done anything of note in return. So please, explain to me how I’m supposed to know how you feel? Do Witchers have their own courting rituals? Or are you naturally shit at actually romancing someone outside of fucking? Which we haven’t even done yet!”

Geralt said nothing, his face cold as he returned his gaze to the fire. Gods, if only Geralt wasn’t so hard to read, then this would all be easier. With a dramatic huff, Jaskier turned and went back to the bedrolls. If Geralt wanted to be a closed off arsehole about it, then he could deal with the sleepless nights on his own. Once Jaskier was wrapped in  _ his _ blanket, he kicked Geralt’s bedroll away from him to make a point.

***

By the next afternoon, Jaskier and Geralt had made their way to a nearby village where there had been rumors of a monster terrorizing the villagers. Jaskier was sat at the local tavern with Geralt, who seemed more awake than the night before, and observed as an old woman named Bertha spoke of the mysterious creature.

“It’s been attacking men and children alike in the forest,” She claimed. “It could be a hunter with his bow or a woman with a basket and they’d be found with roots struck through them or-or shredded by animal-like teeth. My granddaughter went in a week ago to find her boy, he’d run in after his ball…” Tears started to fill her eyes. “And neither of them came out. They were found mangled by  _ roots _ , Witcher. My granddaughter and one of my great grandchildren,  _ murdered _ . What could have possibly done this?”

Geralt sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. As usual, he didn’t show any sympathy to the old woman, so Jaskier reached out and took Bertha’s hand. She held onto it as she got out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. It was times like these that Jaskier hated the code Witchers followed of not showing their emotions. Some people would actually be less afraid of Geralt if he showed even a little sympathy to the victims of the monsters he slayed. But this was how Witchers were, and so Jaskier was always the emotional support for Geralt’s employers.

“So it attacks during the day, but never ventures beyond the forest.” Geralt said. “It can murder using tree-roots and animals. Has anyone actually seen the beast and lived?”

Bertha took some deep breaths before replying. “The stableboy Sascha. H-he said it had horns like an elk, with a face like an elk’s skull. It’s body looked like it was made out of a tree, and it had branches growing out of it. He said  _ “It looked like a corpse that was made of bark” _ .”

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. “A Leshen.”

“A what?” Jaskier asked.

“A monster that can control plantlife and animals to do it’s bidding. It only attacks when the sun is out… and if it’s here, it imprinted itself on someone.”

“You mean someone  _ summoned _ the beast here?” Bertha asked with wide eyes.

“Leshens imprint so that they’re harder to kill,” Geralt explained. “Whoever it imprinted on doesn’t know the Leshen did it in the first place, but the creature is using that person as a life-force.”

A man, red faced and smelling of ale, walked up with a knife in hand. “So we kill whoever it imprinted on? Is that what yer suggesting, Witcher?”

A few in the tavern turned their attention to Geralt and the man. Shit, if things continued South, they would have a brawl on their hands. Jaskier swiftly got up and announced,

“I’m sure there is another way of weakening the beast. No one else needs to die in order for it to die, right Geralt? He is called a ‘friend to humanity’ for a reason.”

Jaskier turned with a pleading expression to his Witcher. In truth, Jaskier had no idea what weakening a Leshen would take, but he prayed that a kinder method without killing would work. Geralt looked around for a moment, then said to the angry man,

“I’ll find who it imprinted on and you can exile them. It needs to be close to the imprinted in order to be stronger. If you send whoever it is away, I can kill it.”

The angry man seemed to calm a bit at that response, and looked to the old woman, who nodded. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small coin purse that she handed to Geralt.

“800 Ducats,” She said. “Just please rid us of this monster, Witcher. Whatever it takes.”

“I take payment after I finish the job,” Geralt said as he got up to leave.

Despite the fight they had last night, Jaskier still needed to witness this battle for himself. He quickly followed the Witcher out of the tavern with his lute strapped on his shoulder and waited until they were far enough away to ask,

“You weren’t lying about the imprint-exile thing, right? I mean, that woman just lost her great grandson-.”

“I wasn’t,” Geralt grunted.

“So… whoever the Leshen has imprinted on lives near the forest?”

“Location doesn’t matter as long as it’s a mile out.”

“... what’s the point of imprinting anyway?” Geralt gave Jaskier a glare that meant Jaskier was being an idiot. “I am not a tombe of knowledge like you are. Just explain so we don’t have to have this conversation at an inopportune moment.”

Geralt shook his head. “Leshens imprint on someone close to their territory so they’re stronger and almost impossible to kill, they feed off of their life force. By exiling it’s victim, it’ll weaken enough for me to kill it.”

It took a moment for Jaskier to realize that Geralt was actually walking with purpose instead of wandering, and he even left Roach tied at the tavern. He groaned annoyingly at the realization that he didn’t have his book and quill with him. How was he supposed to document this quest without them?

“Let’s hope whoever was imprinted on has some spare parchment with them.” Jaskier said.

***

It turned out that one of the dead farmer’s daughters was the one who the Leshen imprinted on. Geralt, blunt as ever, tried to convince the poor girl that she needed to leave for everyone’s sake, but she didn’t want to listen at first, hell-bent on staying in her ancestral home. Then Geralt brought up how the victims were found, and what the Leshen was capable of, and she begrudgingly agreed.

That was around the time things started to go South.

“I’m not going to stay in town while you battle the Leshen,” Jaskier exclaimed. “I can kill a few possessed animals, you’ve taught me the basics over the years so that I can, how did you put it?  _ ‘Have an idiot’s chance at surviving your travels’ _ ?”

“The animals are the least of your concerns,” Geralt said as he took out some potions from Roach’s saddlebag. “The old woman said victims were gouged with tree roots. Do you think a silver dagger can cut down enchanted greenery?”

“I could  _ run  _ from said enchanted greenery. And the Leshen would be too busy with  _ you _ to attack a simple bard.”

“It’s attacked children chasing after toys.”

“You’re terrible at giving me details, it’s better to just-.”

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt snapped. “Stay with Roach so I don’t have to worry about the Leshen getting to you.”

Geralt looked as if those words were painful to admit. If that were the case, Jaskier could respect the attempt in reasoning by opening up. It almost took the wind out of his sails, but Jaskier didn’t make Geralt famous by hiding at the first sign of danger (or because Geralt told him to  _ every _ time).

“While I appreciate your concern, I’m still coming with you,” Geralt glared at him in response. “ _ But _ , I will keep a safe enough distance that I can observe while not getting physically involved. That way I can witness the battle and you can be at ease that I won’t get killed by a possessed deer. Deal?”

Jaskier knew he had won when Geralt hung his head with a sigh, and the bard didn’t bother hiding the triumphant look on his face. Negotiating was more of Geralt’s speciality, but Jaskier had his moments of success when it came to his… Geralt (there’d be more time to analyze that thought later).

***

After Geralt had found and destroyed some totems related to the Leshen, he went into the forest to start his hunt. Jaskier had negotiated to stay 60 paces away from Geralt so that he could perform his work without worrying too much about Jaskier’s safety, but Jaskier could still observe Geralt at work. Even at a distance, Jaskier could appreciate how Geralt looked when he was in his element. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he looked at every strange looking root, blood stain, and footprint on the ground.

Jaskier could already imagine the beginnings of a song in his head as Geralt worked. Something about how  _ ‘not all beasts wander in the dark, some are fierce and made of bark’ _ . No, that was rubbish. He’d get there soon enough, once Geralt found the Leshen. Though, Jaskier did wonder why a monster like this would stay in a place as beautiful as a forest. He remembered hearing about monsters briefly when he was at Oxenfurt, while he studied the Conjunction of the Spheres. He had a vague recollection of reading about forest protectors, but that couldn’t be this Leshen. It was killing innocent people.

When the sun was high in the sky, a lone wolf came out of some bushes a few feet away from Geralt. It wasn’t harmless by any means as it growled and bared its teeth at the Witcher. It must have been a possessed wolf because Geralt drew his sword and became battle-ready in an instant. Jaskier’s heart raced with anticipation and he smiled at the fact that the battle was about to start.

Geralt moved gracefully as the wolf lunged at him. It was somewhat surreal seeing a white wolf attack The White Wolf, and Jaskier made sure to store that image in his memory for his ballad. Once the first wolf was killed, two more appeared behind Geralt, and he took them on with as much ease as the first. These wolves seemed to have a magical enhancement of sorts, Jaskier couldn’t imagine a normal beast continuing to fight after its front paw was cut off.

Out of nowhere, a group of tree roots shot out of the ground aimed at Geralt, but Geralt was faster at dodging them. A low whispering sound surrounded the area, as if the woods calmed by a single command, and a flock of black birds flew towards Geralt. Right before Jaskier’s eyes, the birds gathered and created a form unlike any he had ever seen: the Leshen. It truly was as if a corpse was made of bark, with long, thin arms ending with vicious claws, it loomed tall over Geralt with the face of a deer’s skull, but its antlers were made of branches. There was moss on some spots of its body, branches growing off of it, as if a forest was given a humanoid form.

_ ‘A monster of wood with a skull as a head, _

_ Wanting our very good Witcher dead.’ _

Still terrible.

The battle between the Leshen and Geralt was glorious. Geralt would duck and dodge the beast, the Leshen would at times turn into mist and teleport to another spot. It summoned more wolves to attack Geralt, but with the help of Witcher spells and his speed and dexterity, Geralt was able to fight them off. He even pulled out a few potions that he tossed at the Leshen to stun it whilst he slaughtered a wolf.

Jaskier watched intently the entire time, hesitant to blink in fear that he would miss something important. If he was completely honest, he knew that watching Geralt fight was a bit arousing. He’d always been partial to a man who could hold his own and protect those he loved, but Geralt was that and more, ten fold. Not only that, he fought  _ monsters _ for a living, which very few human men could do.

With one final slash, the Leshen screeched and fell to the grass, a lifeless shell. Geralt was panting for breath with his sword standing from the ground to keep him up. He was covered in sweat and blood, his hair in disarray and his armor shredded. From where Jaskier stood, Geralt didn’t seem to have that many injuries that needed tending to, which was a relief because they were running low on medical supplies. When the beast didn’t move again, Jaskier got up from where he was sitting and ran to Geralt with a smile.

“Brilliant as always!” He cheered as he approached. “Truly legendary, especially with the tree roots coming up at random moments. How you could dodge them is beyond me, but that was an impressive feat.”

Geralt smirked and shook his head. “You think it’s all impressive.”

“I find  _ you _ impressive, Geralt. Now,” Jaskier reached into his pocket to pull out the parchment he acquired earlier. “Tell me how-.”

Jaskier suddenly felt a gouging pain in his stomach, like nothing he had ever felt before. He dropped his parchments and looked down…

A sharp root was pierced through his stomach.

Then everything went black.

***

Geralt’s nostrils flared at the new smell that appeared: human blood. _ Fresh _ human blood.

He managed to look up right when Jaskier passed out. There was a root gouged through his stomach from the back and it held his body up like a limp doll. Blood poured down from the wound, staining Jaskier’s dark blue doublet. Geralt quickly looked behind him to see the Leshen had raised it’s hand. The fucking bastard, it hadn’t fucking died yet. Geralt quickly stabbed his blade through the monster’s skull, and it’s arm dropped. With one foul swoop, he decapitated the head, but turned his attention to Jaskier.

Jaskier was unconscious, but Geralt could still hear a faint heartbeat when he put his ear to his bard’s chest. He couldn’t remove the root or Jaskier would bleed out before they got to a healer, so he cut the root at the back and Jaskier fell into his arms. Geralt couldn’t let the overwhelming fear cloud his judgement, he needed to move fast. He shifted Jaskier so that he was carrying him like a damsel, and managed to pick up the Leshen’s head by its horn.

Geralt ran as fast as his mutations would allow through the forest. Jaskier was lucky he wasn’t dead already, but that didn’t mean he had an abundance of time. Damn the coin, damn The Path, damn the fucking Leshen, Jaskier needed to live!

It was easy enough to find his way back to the village. There was a group of villagers, including Bertha, who were waiting for him, and their eyes widened upon seeing Geralt and Jaskier. Geralt threw the Leshen’s head at their feet and asked,

“Is there a doctor in this village?”

A young woman with brown hair stepped forward. “We have a mage, Yizinni Garcere, does that help?”

“Even better. Show me.”

The woman led Geralt to the other side of the village where there was a cottage. It had a dark blue, tiled roof, a small wooden fence around it, and smoke came out of the chimney. He could feel magic emanating from the cottage. Thank the Gods, the mage was home.

“Do you want me to fetch your horse?” The young woman asked.

“She’s tied up at the tavern,” Geralt answered as he went to the front door.

Geralt knocked on the door with his foot and heard footsteps approach the door. It opened to reveal Yizinni. She was middle aged in a green and brown dress, her brown hair braided and peppered with strands of grey, and she was holding some herbs. She looked Geralt up and down before her eyes settled on Jaskier’s wound.

“The Leshen did this?” She asked.

“You knew about it?”

“Leshens are protectors of the forest, even a Witcher knows that,” Yizinni held the door open and Geralt stepped inside. “Set him on the table.”

Geralt did as instructed and Yizzini went around her cottage to gather different herbs and potions. Geralt didn’t leave Jaskier’s side, and kept a hand on his shoulder. He knew Jaskier wasn’t able to appreciate the touch, but it kept Geralt grounded in a way.

“How long ago was he injured?” Yizinni asked.

“15 minutes.”

“And you didn’t remove the root, that was smart,” Yizinni mixed the herbs and potions together in a pot over the fireplace. “How much is old Bertha paying you for your services?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Just trying to make conversation, Witcher. It helps me think if I speak at the same time.”

“I’m not one for conversing with people.”

Yizinni did a motion with her hand over the pot, and a green smoke came out of it. Geralt wasn’t sure how this would heal a hole in Jaskier’s stomach, but he didn’t have any other options at the moment. Yizinni took some of the mixture out of the pot with a spoon and put it into a small wooden bowl. She approached the table, and pressed her fingers to the wound in Jaskier’s abdomen.

“You’ll need to pull the root out,” she looked up at Geralt. “But do not worry, the potion and spell will keep him from bleeding out, you have my word.”

It was difficult to not argue with her, to not say “cast it without taking it out”, but Geralt knew from experience that mending flesh couldn’t heal properly without removing the fang, or in this case, root. So, Geralt leaned Jaskier onto his side and pulled the root out from the back. It made a squelching sound that only pierced flesh could make, and it made Geralt sick because it was Jaskier’s flesh making it. He gently laid Jaskier back onto the table and let Yizinni work.

He watched as the mage spoke in Elven and tipped the potion into Jaskier’s mouth. The wound in Jaskier’s abdomen glowed a bright blue and the bleeding ceased instantly. Yizinni moved around the table as she made gestures and spoke in Elven. Geralt could feel the magic fill the room, it’s main source surrounding Jaskier’s unconscious body. It could have been minutes or hours before Yizinni finished her incantation, and Jaskier’s wound was already starting to visibly mend.

“He’ll need to rest for a few hours before the spell finishes. I put him in a deep sleep so he won’t move and tamper with the mending,” She put the bowl into a nearby pale and started to rinse it out. “You can stay here for the night. I sense a great storm approaching, and I can’t in good conscience let you travel in it. I have a stable in the back where you can put your horse, though it came with the cottage when I arrived 20 years ago.”

Geralt nodded with a grunt and went outside to untie Roach. The sky was grey and the air smelled of rain, which meant Yizinni was right. Thankfully, Roach was tied up on the fence, but she seemed a bit annoyed at being left alone for so long.

“Sorry I couldn’t come back for you,” Geralt said as he untied her. “I was a bit busy with Jaskier, he needed help.”

Roach snorted and bumped her head into Geralt’s as they started for the barn behind the cottage.

“He’ll be fine,” Geralt said. “The mage did a decent enough job that he’ll live. You’ll hear more of his songs yet.”

Roach gave Geralt a look that he was almost sure meant ‘you think I enjoy his singing?’

“He has a nice voice, just not the best lyrics.”

The barn was small, clearly only meant for one horse, and hadn’t been used for a horse for decades at least judging by the smell. There was hay and a full water trough, and Geralt had no doubt that Yizinni magically got them there in the time he went outside. He was able to unpack what he needed and untie Roach from her saddle. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, Geralt could feel the dull ache of his injuries. His mutations helped mute physical pain to an extent, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel them.

He went in the back entrance to the cottage, which led to a ladder for the upper floor, a lounge chair, and a bookcase of spellcasting and herbology texts. It seemed that Yizinni preferred nature based magic as opposed to what other mages Geralt had met preferred. It also explained why Yizinni knew about the Leshen and smelled of anger when Geralt appeared. No matter, he needed to clean his wounds and check on Jaskier.

As Geralt entered the main area of the cottage, he could smell food being prepared. The aroma was cooking lamb, boiling potatoes, and different spices.

“I hope you like lamb,” Yizinni said. “I also noticed the blood from your wound, Witcher. If you need to clean up, I can draw you a bath if you’ll be needing it. Infections are a nasty business.”

“Hm.”

Yizinni gave him a disapproving look only mothers could give. “I’ll need more than a grunt as an answer, Witcher. Do you need a bath drawn?”

Geralt glared at her. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Yizinni nodded, but didn’t seem to believe Geralt. In truth, he did need to disinfect his wounds with the potions he had retrieved from his saddle bag. The Leshen wasn’t poisonous, nor were the animals it had possessed, but that didn’t mean animals weren’t dirty enough to spread infections on their own. He was almost certain that there were splinters in his wounds from the Leshen’s strikes.

He sat his bag on an end table and carefully removed his armor. Geralt inspected every piece he removed to see if it was salvageable or not. By the time he was down to his shirt and trousers, he was glad that his armor only required stitching to repair. Though the coin Bertha offered him would have bought him new armor easily, he’d probably have to go find her once the storm cleared to collect it.

“Your thoughts are quite boring,” Yizinni said amusingly. “I’d have expected something more interesting than the cost of armor, coming from a Witcher.”

Geralt’s head snapped up to the mage, who seemed smug to have caught him off guard. “You were reading my thoughts?”

Yizinni took two plates to her study in the back. “I’m an old woman with magic, I have fun where I can. Now come eat so your body heals better.”

Geralt was tempted to not follow her, but there were still a few details about Yizinni that he needed to investigate further. And given her admission to being bored, he wouldn’t have too much trouble getting answers. So he followed Yizinni to her study, where she placed the two plates across from each other on a table that seemed to sprout like roots from the ground (and it hadn’t been there when he walked in). He took a seat, and got to the point.

“You knew about the Leshen,” He started, “but didn’t help the villagers when it murdered them. You prefer nature based Magics and charms, and are clearly talented in healing, but you aren’t attached to the Brotherhood. Your magic wasn’t prevalent when I entered the village, either, not until I had killed the Leshen and Jaskier needed help, and you said you bought this cottage 20 years ago. Why help the men who were paid to kill something you hold dear? And why are you hiding from the Brotherhood?”

Yizinni simply sighed, and laid her fork on the table. “You’re as clever as the Bard foretold, Geralt of Rivia.” A small, sad smile appeared on her face. “My daughter would have been fond of you.”

“You’re a mother.”

She cast her eyes to the wooden floorboards. “Was. I was originally a mage for one of the Northern kingdoms, but for as long as I could remember, I wanted to be a mother and a healer. But the Rectress of Aretuza didn’t give me much choice in the matter. As soon as I had my conduit moment, she took me away and molded me into a sorceress. And I was shite at cleaning up political messes.”

“Hm.”

“I was always better at helping the people find new medicinal remedies, I was one of the mages who helped stop the plague you’re familiar with. And along the way… I found myself with child after a simple night of drunken delights.”

“And the Brotherhood didn’t approve, did they?”

“Of course not. They need you loyal to them and only them, why would they let you start a family to detract from that? Naturally, I told them to sod off and hid.” A soft smile appeared on her face. “I had a beautiful little girl, with bright red hair and deep blue eyes. Her name was Emena, and she was my brilliant sunflower. Always strong, always wanting to do what’s right, and always wanting to learn the ways of nature. She was my pride and joy…” and just as quickly as it appeared, he’d smile twisted into a grimace. “But she had her own conduit moment, and the Rectress found us. I tried to keep Emena with me, fought Tissea with every bit of Chaos I had… but it wasn’t enough… and Emena didn’t ascend.”

***

As Geralt tended to his wounds on the second floor of the cottage, he thought of the fight he had with Jaskier the night before. It was true, he didn’t show affection for Jaskier like most would expect, but every time he wanted to, Vesemir’s lectures on the Witcher’s code rang in his head.

_ If a Witcher shows emotions, he will not be bargained with as easily. _

In his heart, Geralt knew Jaskier was the exception to this rule. After his brief tryst with Renfri, he’d thought he could give up on love completely to save himself from more pain. He had resorted to hiding his emotions once again to hide the pain. And yet Jaskier tagging along to find the ‘Devil of Posada’ had changed his life completely, crumbled his resolve to never fall in love again. Geralt didn’t know if he was a fool for it, to let his heart be open once more when he couldn’t accurately express his emotions.

_ How would I know if you never show it? _

Those words had cut to Geralt’s core when Jaskier said them. 

In truth, Geralt hated that he had agreed so easily in the beginning to be with Jaskier. Now Jaskier would  _ always _ be by his side, constantly in danger be it from bandits or monsters. If Vesemir could see how  _ soft _ Geralt had become, he’d be disgusted by how human he was.

Seeing Jaskier as he was after the attack, bloody and broken, made Geralt want to leave while he had the chance. If he left while Jaskier was still asleep, maybe with a note and half the Ducats, it would hurt, but it would be for the best. Everyone Geralt had ever loved either died or betrayed him or both. Jaskier made stupid enough decisions that it could get him killed while hunting a monster. This time, it almost had. It was pure luck that Yizinni had arrived in the village when she did, or else Jaskier would be dead.

Geralt looked over at Jaskier’s lute, and made a decision. It would break his heart and Jaskier’s, but what choice did he have?

When the rain lightened a bit the next morning, Geralt packed up his gear, got Roach from the stable, and started making his way out of the village. He’d left a note by Jaskier that explained why he left, as well as a coin purse with 400 Ducats. Geralt kept his cloak hood up as he walked down the muddy road with Roach’s reins in his hand.

“Where are you going?” A familiar voice asked.

Geralt turned and saw Bertha walk up to him. He hadn’t expected to see her again after proving the monster had been slain, but Bertha was a kind sort of woman, so she must have been worried about Jaskier.

“I’m leaving.” Geralt answered.

“Without your bard?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just leaving him when he’s too weak to protest, is that it?”

Geralt was silent, and didn’t let himself show that she was right. Nor would he argue that Jaskier would be too stubborn to let him walk away in the first place. Bertha, though, seemed upset by his silence.

“Witcher, I know you’re not heartless like everyone else in the village believes,” she said. “The way you looked at the bard and he looked at you, why would you walk away from that much love?”

Geralt scratched Roach behind her ears. “I want him alive, not dead.”

“If he follows you into the clutches of doom like he did with that Leshen, that says a lot about how much he loves you. What does it say about you if you’re willing to leave him when he is wounded and unable to speak?”

“That I’m protecting him.”

“Then tell him that yourself, you idiot. Don’t make him hate you by just running off. Do you really want him to be broken-hearted because he thinks you don’t love him, or because you want to do what you think is best for him?”

Geralt did somewhat respect Bertha for being able to stand up to Geralt where many others had failed in the past. And… he had to admit that she had a point. In the past, he and Jaskier could part ways without (much) heartbreak and not see each other for months, sometimes years. He loved Jaskier, and now the bard knew it, which would make everything even worse if he left without a word. Gods, how did an elderly woman grieving her loss manage to break Geralt’s resolve?

He needed to figure out what exactly this meant, so he decided to go to the tavern for a while. Geralt didn’t want to leave Jaskier… though he needed to make a different decision.

***

Jaskier slowly came back to consciousness to the smell of eggs and bacon. He could tell that he was laying on a hard surface that didn’t agree with his back, and he was indoors as opposed to the woods he was in earlier. He turned his head and saw that he was in a house. Geralt must have taken him somewhere safe after-.

_ He’d been stabbed by a root! _

He sat up quickly and looked down where the root had stabbed him. His doublet was stained with blood with a rip where the root had gone through, but his flesh only had a scar where the wound had been. He pressed down on it with his fingers, and it caused a twinge of pain that made him suck air sharply through his teeth.

“Be careful,” A voice said. The bard looked up, and a middle aged woman walked up to him with a plate of hot food. She had a soft smile on her face, the kind a mother would give her child when they were ill. “The healing only finished an hour ago, you’ll be tender for a while yet.”

“You healed me?” Jaskier asked.

“Your Witcher brought you here right after you were injured. Though you are either incredibly brave or incredibly dense to follow a Witcher on his hunt, but they do say love is blind,” She handed him a plate of eggs and bacon. “Eat up, you’ll need to regain your strength before you travel again.”

Jaskier remembered how his mother worried about his love for adventure.  _ “If you ever find yourself in a dangerous situation, you’d be the type to watch it closely and get yourself killed. I’m not sending you to school just so you can run headfirst into danger” _ . Well, apparently that was exactly what she did whether she liked it or not. Not to mention falling in love with a Witcher which became incredibly complicated. Jaskier looked around the room to look for Geralt… but he wasn’t there.

“Where’s Geralt?” He asked.

The woman’s face grew sad, and she gestured to Jaskier’s side. He looked down, and saw a coin purse with a rolled piece of parchment on it. Jaskier’s heart dropped to his stomach as he sat his plate down and picked up the note. As soon as he unrolled it and read it’s contents, he felt his heart shatter and anger filled his being.

_ Jaskier, _

_ Don’t come looking for me. I’ve given you enough coin to help you move onto another town. I hope you can forgive me one day. _

_ Don’t get yourself killed. _

_ -Geralt _

“That… that fucking-.”

Jaskier couldn’t finish his thought as the front door opened and Geralt walked in. He’d clearly been traveling since he was wearing his cloak and lacked armor. Geralt pulled back his hood and approached Jaskier.

“Jaskier-.”

“You bastard!” Jaskier yelled as he jumped off the table and shoved Geralt in the chest. “You were going to leave me here!? With what? A bag of coin and a note? What in the fucking  _ hells _ were you thinking!?”

“Let me explain-.”

“Oh,  _ please do! _ Please explain why you’d leave me here with a  _ stranger _ after I nearly  _ died! _ ”

Jaskier hoped Geralt had a damn good reason for what he (almost) did. If he was still going to walk away and leave Jaskier, the bard would write ballads of how cruel Geralt was and spread it from Cintra to Nilfgaard. No one would hire a Witcher who broke hearts left and right in between contracts. Geralt closed his eyes with a and took a deep breath.

“I know I don’t write poetry for you, or… or hold you like you’d want me to. One day, I want you to understand that those things don’t come as naturally to me as they do you…” Geralt opened his eyes and had such a vulnerable expression color his features. “For you, I’d cut down a thousand men to find you the perfect rose, or forsake the Path I was made for so that you won’t fear for your life any longer. Your love for me is the most anyone has ever given me, and… I’ll try to do better, for both of us.”

“Hang on... hold on a minute,” Jaskier, despite himself, felt a familiar warmth of affection fill his being, only slightly dampening the anger. “If you feel that way, why were you planning on leaving me here, Geralt? Was this some sort of noble and, frankly, misguided gesture?”

“Hm.” Geralt grunted with a nod.

“No! You don’t get to do the silent brooding routine, this is where talking about our feelings is important. So explain why you thought it’d be a good idea to leave me here.”

Jaskier sat back on the edge of the table and picked up his food, taking a bite of his eggs. He made a show of acting like he was raptly listening to get his point across, and if he was eating, it meant Geralt wouldn’t just default to Jaskier decoding his thoughts. Geralt scowled, but pulled up a chair in front of Jaskier and sat down.

“The Leshen almost killed you.”

“M-hm.”

“You’ve never been injured that severely on a hunt before.”

“Yes.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “... Everyone I’ve ever cared for either betrayed me or died or both. Blaviken was one of those times I cared for someone, but she betrayed me, and she died because of it,” Geralt squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, the next words ground out as if physically painful. “I don’t want to  _ ruin _ you. And I don’t want to lose you. I wanted to leave to keep you safe. The thought of you dying because of me, it…”

“It terrifies you,” Jaskier said in awe.

“Hm.”

It suddenly made sense (though it didn’t make what Geralt attempted any less wrong or stupid). Geralt would most likely outlive Jaskier because of his mutations alone, and what happened with the Leshen must have terrified him. It made Jaskier feel sorry for Geralt, to live in constant fear of losing people he trusted and cared for. He had never asked about what happened in Blaviken, given how Geralt punched him in the gut when Jaskier was throwing out ideas when they met. Hopefully, he’d find out one day. Jaskier sat his plate down and gently took Geralt’s face in his hands.

“You could never ruin me, Geralt,” He said softly, and Geralt opened his eyes to look up at him. “I’ve been following you into dangerous situations for years now, and I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you in Posada. I knew what I was signing up for when I followed you and I’ve loved every minute of it.”

“But you complain about camping in the woods.”

“I grew up in a wealthy family with servants washing my linens, of course I’d complain,” Jaskier smiled. “But being able to watch you fight, to be by your side as we travel the continent, it’s well worth it. Every part of your being is like a work of art molded by the Gods, from your silent brooding to your golden eyes. I could write hundreds of poems about your intense stares and your cunning mind and everything else you have to offer.” He rested his forehead against Geralt’s. “The only person I want in this lifetime, and the life after that, is  _ you _ . I love  _ you _ Geralt of Rivia, no one else, and I’d never hurt you willingly. That I promise upon the the stars in the sky.”

Geralt’s gaze was almost sphere-shatteringly intense. Jaskier felt like he was staring into the bard’s very soul, with a fierce protectiveness and love he’d never seen before. Silently, Geralt stood up from his seat and pulled Jaskier close to him so they both stood. They’d slept closely before, but the room felt like it was alight with a lightning fierce intensity that took Jaskier’s breath away. The very way Geralt held him felt like he was almost afraid to let go lest Jaskier disappear. Geralt placed his hand on Jaskier’s cheek, his thumb running back and forth on Jaskier’s cheekbone, and he leaned in close with hooded eyes.

Jaskier slid his hands under Geralt’s cloak and let his eyes slide closed as Geralt’s lips touched his. There were no words in the common tongue that could describe what he felt as he shared his first real kiss with Geralt. If he were to try, his mind would combust from the sheer emotion and sensation he dared to speak. All he knew was that Geralt’s lips slotted and moving against Jaskier’s were perfection, as if hundreds of words were being said without a single sound, the perfect sonnet being written in the span of a few moments.

Despite how chaste it was, Jaskier felt his breath leave him as Geralt pulled back. They stood there in silence, holding one another, breathing each other’s air. Jaskier dared not speak or he’d sob uncontrollably from the sheer emotion he felt. He felt a guttural, uncontrollable urge to make love to Geralt, to show him in every way he knew how that he wanted no other man on this world besides his beautiful Witcher. He pulled Geralt roughly toward him, but the impact of the Witcher’s body on his wound made him flinch with a groan in pain.

“You need to heal,” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier groaned dramatically and threw his head back. “Stupid frail body,” He smiled as he looked up at Geralt. “I swear to you once I’m fully healed, I will ravish you and show you pleasure beyond imagining. I do have a reputation as an  _ exceptional _ lover, after all.”

Geralt smiled. “I’ll keep you to that.”

And that was when Jaskier remembered where they were… another person’s home. He quickly looked around to see if they were being watched. Thank Melitelle, the woman was gone, and Jaskier let out a sigh of relief.

“At least we weren’t being watched.”

“She left ten minutes ago. She doesn’t stay in one place for more than a few days.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “I feel like there’s a story there worthy of my ballads.”

Geralt chuckled and backed away to hand Jaskier his plate. “I’ll tell you once we’re on the road again. Eat first.”

“So much for being a starving artist.”

As Jaskier ate his food and Geralt sharpened his sword, Jaskier had a feeling that this was a new chapter in their relationship. Geralt’s admission was clearly something he had locked away deep down, something that he feared to admit to anyone. Jaskier felt honored that he was entrusted with such knowledge, and he’d be cautious of it from now on.

And hopefully, he’d be fully healed in a day or two. He would  _ absolutely _ keep his promise of ravishing Geralt as if his life depended on it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been told by my beta readers that Yizinni could have her own story, so if any of you want to use her, you have my permission to do so. Just make sure to credit me as the one who came up with her :)


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